


Selfies

by freddi11



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Serious fluff, cooky retirement feelings alert, i do write them as ambigously as possible, occasional feelings alert, so decide for yourself if that's JUST a friendship, sri lanka vs england 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddi11/pseuds/freddi11
Summary: Set during England Men's recent tour of Sri Lanka.Alastair's moved on from his time in the Test side - or has he? And Jimmy's trying to tell himself that he's definitely NOT missing his best friend at all... Thank gods for smartphones.





	1. An ordinary evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiminyneesham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminyneesham/gifts).



Ali and Jimmy have the same background photo on their phones.

Without knowing.

A selfie – one of their rare ones – taken almost a year ago at the harbour in Sydney, in front of the Lindt Café. Ali is wearing his England cap and a red T-Shirt, squinting at the camera, one arm around Jimmy’s shoulders. Has (which he didn’t notice until after they’d taken the photo) a small speck of chocolate on the tip of his nose.

Jimmy holds the camera in his right hand. From that angle, only the tip of his sleeve – purple, his favourite summer shirt – is visible. As usual, he’s wearing sunglasses and it’s hard to make out his expression. If you don’t know him as well as Ali does. And you don’t notice the many small laughter lines peeking out under the dark glasses.

What were they talking about when they took the selfie? About the day Straussy managed to break his sunglasses – which had fallen off his hat – in half with a rather elegant throw? Or was it another funny memory from their 12 years in the national team? One of those which only makes sense to both of them?

Ali, who’s standing in the kitchen of the family farm, absent-mindedly stirring through a pot of spaghetti, doesn’t remember. Then again, Jimmy and he never run out of things to talk about. When they’re alone. Who knows when that’s going to happen again?

The kitchen timer buzzes. While he drains the pasta – “Alice! Kids! Dinner’s ready!” – Ali suddenly has an idea. He turns his back to the window, takes his phone, looks for the right angle to capture the stunning sunset behind him – and takes a selfie. Wants to send it to Jimmy but is interrupted by his wife. “Thanks darling. Elsie, help me set the table please.”

During dinner Alastair is too busy listening to his four-year-old daughter’s excited tales from kindergarten to think about the selfie again. He’d better not send it too late, though, or he’ll wake Jimmy up. _And I know what you’re like when you don’t get your beauty sleep_ , he thinks with a smile. (And tries to count the times he had to dodge a hastily thrown pillow.) Helps Isabelle cut up her spaghetti.

A quiet evening at home with his family. Nice as well. If still – slightly – new.

“And although you’re leaving this family…” And why does he remember the PCA video now? With Joe’s message which, back at the Oval, had moved him to tears?

He sighs at himself. _That does NOT help at all_. Looks around the table. “Anyone want some more sauce?”

 

“Come in!” Jimmy enters Stuart’s room. Stops, completely baffled.

Stuart’s laptop is on the couch table, with the live stream up and running. And two silver tea jugs next to it. But Stuart’s also taken away one of the footrests and put his tablet – or is that one Ben’s? – on it, tilted the screen so it’s visible from any point on the couch. And there’s another game on the flat screen.

“You’re incredible.” Jimmy laughs, grabs a teabag and dunks it into the pleasantly hot water. “And what am I supposed to do when there’s three interesting games on at the same time?” Stuart replies with a grin and stretches out on the sofa.

“Three? I’m only seeing the rugby … and Chelsea.” Jimmy makes himself comfortable next to Stuart, pretends to think about it. “Count yourself lucky you’re holding a hot cup of water. Otherwise I’d throw something.” Stuart says, only half-earnestly offended. “But if you’re being cheeky about my team again tonight…” “Then what?” Jimmy props himself up on his elbows, grins at his friend. “Nothing. Let’s order something to eat.” Stuart grins back at him and picks up the menu. “I’m taking the grilled shrimps on rice. Paid for by…” Jimmy trails off, sighs. Feels a slight lump at the back of his throat. _He’s not here, you genius_. Stuart has read his mind, hugs him briefly. “I know. Believe me, I do. So, I’m paying tonight, ok?”

“Thanks.” Jimmy blinks away the tears and turns towards the tablet, to the rugby game against Japan. _It does hit you when you least expect it._ He’s slightly annoyed with himself. Ali’s definitely okay, back home on the farm. Finally, he’s got proper time with his two girls – especially now Elsie’s started kindergarten – for more than six weeks. And Alice will no doubt be glad that her husband’s (finally) there to help her with their third child – and not missing out on those first couple of weeks. _I bet he’s not even thinking about us. He’s happy._

Forest score the first goal of the evening just as their dinner arrives. At which point, their conversation drifts back to safer territories. About next year’s Rugby World Championship (and their betting pool, involving now half the current Test and ODI squads, if any other team than the All Blacks win the title), the sense (or lack thereof) of the new Nation’s League and when exactly the Women’s Football World Cup is on.

“That was good.” Stuart says an hour later and yawns. Wonders what he should text Joe – his Blades were no match whatsoever for Forest tonight – when another idea hits him.

“Jim?” “Yeah?” “We should take a video.” “Of us and the three screens?” Jimmy laughs. “Okay.” Stuart grabs his phone. “And then … let’s send it to Cooky.”

Which definitely isn’t the reason at all that Jimmy’s got a beaming smile on his face while Stuart is filming. Absolutely not.

“Done. Do you want to send it?” “Nah, go ahead. I’ve got no idea what to write.” Apart from a heart-emoji. Which Ali would definitely not misunderstand. Jimmy takes another handful of crisps.

 

Ali has settled on the sofa with a glass of wine, flicks through the paper and wonders what he should cook for his parents who are coming to lunch on Monday.

He’s about to take one of their recipe books from the shelf, to look for inspiration, when his phone interrupts him. A video from Stuart. Without text. Another one of those jump-scare videos that Jos likes to distribute to anyone in the squad? (Okay, the jump Trev made when he saw the one with the cobra was quite funny.)

Warily, he opens the message. Stuart, stretched out comfortably on a sofa, is filming. And the camera makes a turn to the right. To a figure Ali will always recognise.

Jimmy. Propped up against a small pillow, watching the Japan game, Chelsea and (so this has to be Stuart’s room) Nottingham Forest at the same time. And he’s got THAT smile. Which tells Ali that this video was made for him.

And that sets off a weird mixture of emotions. Relief – Jimmy isn’t alone, as he’d previously feared. Homesickness – of course, he’s home, he’s with his family, but a part of him (which should really shut up, it’s over two months now) would give a lot to be lying there next to them on the sofa. And discuss the World Cup-s of next year.

And a familiar, very special, tingling feeling in his belly. Which is only there when they’re alone.

Ali looks for the selfie he took in the kitchen and sends it to Stuart. With nothing more than a smiley. Wanders over to the window, looks out over the orchard to the meadow. Lets his thoughts run freely for a while. Doesn’t need to look into the mirror to feel a smile spread across his face.

 

“He’s replied!” Jimmy calls. Knows how excited he just sounded. Stuart, curious, toothbrush in hand, comes out of the bathroom. “Show me! Oh, he’s sent a photo. Of a sheep, no doubt.” He opens the message.

Ali – he’s been to the hairdresser’s recently – stands in the farm’s kitchen. A bright dark red sunset in the background lets the trees and shrubs glow as if they’re on fire.

“And since when does Cooky take selfies?” Stuart laughs before he notices Jimmy’s expression. Which can only be called … soft. “I’ll forward it to you.” Stuart says quietly, grins at him, full of understanding. “Thanks. Well, I’m off to bed.” Jimmy sounds so very unlike himself. He’s glad he doesn’t have to explain himself in front of Stuart. Yawns widely. “Sleep well!” “You too!”

But that night, two friends, 8,850 km away from each other, lie wide awake for a while. Can’t sleep. And look at the selfie on their phone backgrounds.


	2. Milestones and colds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set during the first and second Tests in Galle and Pallekele.

First innings, first over on a beautiful but hot day in Galle. Finally, time for Jimmy to contribute something to the Test. (Best not think about the duck that just happened – again. He knows he’ll get some stick for that later.)

He throws the ball up, catches it with his left hand to warm up. Stretches. Thinks about his plan for the over. Has to grin when he – unmistakably – hears “Heartbeat” by Buddy Holly played on a trumpet from the stands. _I guess I’m stuck with that now._

Before he runs up, he looks – without even thinking about it – for a familiar figure on the field. Standing at first slip. Wants to wink at him as always.

And stops himself just in time. _That’s going to take a while._ He sighs.

Concentrates again.

Winks at the camera instead – or where he thinks the camera is. Time to get to work.

And maybe, Ali will see it. He must be out of bed by now.

 

Jimmy’s right about that.

Ali is feeding the sheep, his phone in his back pocket, listening to TMS via his new headphones. Which he hasn’t done in a while.

He’s bending over to pick up more hay when he hears it: “That has got to be a wicket! Anderson strikes second ball – and Root reviews.” Ali straightens himself. Waits. Laughs as Joe’s “improved” serious “I’m-not-wrong-ask-DRS” – review face flashes before his mind’s eye.

“DRS is obvious - Karunaratne edges it! Good catch by Ben Foakes! And first blood goes to – obviously, you could almost say, - Jimmy Anderson!”

Ali leans back against the wall, clenches his fist, celebrates. Quietly.

But then he imagines the lads on the field in Galle.  High-fiving, applauding, Chris and Jonny bringing them fresh towels and drinks. And Ali knows that that very second Jimmy is out there – looking for him. For their usual hug. And is probably reminded – once again – that things are different now.

Ali closes his eyes. If anyone, Joe will probably be the only one who’ll have registered that split-second of disappointment on Jimmy’s face before he returns to his familiar scowl. _Look after him tonight, Joe._ Ali thinks and takes a deep breath. Finally, his hands stop shaking.

This will probably only make things worse. But what else can he do? He’s on the other side of the globe, after all. For the first time in years.

Ali takes out his phone, holds it at an arm’s length, winks at the camera – and sends the selfie to Jimmy. Without text. As usual.

It doesn’t need any.

Jimmy will know.

 

A relaxed, if still slightly sleepy, group in England shirts and trackpants lounges on sofas and armchairs in the lobby of their hotel in Kandy. Their victory in Galle – the first ever by an English team, plus Joe’s first away victory as captain – has lifted team spirits even further. The new boys, Rory and Ben, who were cautious observers for the first two weeks in Sri Lanka, are starting to settle in nicely, chatting and joking around with the others.

Joe smiles at them as he leaves the lift. Somehow – he can’t quite place the finger on the exact day, but it had to be around the Lord’s Test in July – they’re turning into his team. _I’m beginning to get the hang of it now, Ali._

He almost said that out loud, didn’t he? At least judging by the look Trev gives him. “Are we ready?” Joe hopes nobody has seen him blush and looks at his watch. “Not quite.” Keaton replies, putting the newspaper he’s been reading back in the stand. “Jimmy’s missing.”

_Shit._

_Keep a straight face, Joe. They don’t need to know what you’re thinking._

Joe tries to sound as casual as he can. “Probably forgot to set his alarm. Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.” _I’m on it._ He nods to Trevor and gets back into the lift.

Joe knew Jimmy would be having an especially hard time during this series. It wasn’t as if Ali or he had missed the odd away tour in the last 12 years. But up until now, they always knew that was only temporary. Because of an injury, or illness or – unbelievable stupidity on the part of the ECB selection committee (as known as the last ODI World Cup, three years ago).

_And if I’m missing Ali this much, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like for Jimmy._

Joe pauses in front of Jimmy’s door, tries to run through what he wants to say. Knocks softly. “It’s me! Can I come in?”

A thud and a muffled curse from the other side of the door. Footsteps come closer, a click, and a figure in an – unbelievable – orange dressing gown appears in the frame. “GO. AWAY. STUART.” a hoarse Lancastrian voice says.

Then Jimmy’s bleary eyes refocus – and he (Joe has only seen that look twice or so) flushes slightly. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.” Jimmy sneezes and wipes his nose on a crumpled tissue. “Don’t tell me I slept in?” “Yep, you did. Trev’s already left with the others.” Joe gives him a sympathetic grin. “Caught the cold from Ramps?” “Think so.” Jimmy sneezes again. “My head is killing me.”

“I’ll get you a Nurofen and a glass of water. Are you fit for training?” Jimmy shrugs. “Anything’s better than being stuck in bed. I’ll just take it easy today if you don’t mind.” “Why should I?” Joe says, friendly. Wants to ask Jimmy how he’s doing besides the cold – which, as he knows all too well – is always a bit of a struggle – but is interrupted by a beeping sound from Jimmy’s phone.

Jimmy reaches for it hastily. And can’t hide a smile – THAT smile – when he opens the message. “Do I need to ask who just texted?” Joe says softly, smiling as well. Jimmy shakes his head. “He says I can show you too.”

Curiously, Joe leans over Jimmy’s shoulder. Sees a photo – a selfie – of Ali, sitting on a slide together with Isabelle, ready to go down. Isabelle looks like she’s having the time of her life. And Ali holds her tightly, smiles at the camera. “ ** _She’s kept me on my toes yesterday :)_** ” the message reads.

“Cute.” Joe laughs. “Let’s send him one back.”

They take five selfies before they decide which one they like best. “And what do we write underneath?” Jimmy – not without sneezing – pulls on his trackpants and training shirt.

_I’m taking care of him._  Which is what Joe would write if it was his phone.

“Captains, present and accounted for?” Jimmy suggests. “Done.” Joe sends the photo and hands Jimmy his phone back. Pauses for a while.

“Jim?” “Hm?” Jimmy is trying to extract the last bit of toothpaste from the tube he bought in Galle. “If you ever need someone to talk to …. about certain things …. you can always come over to my room. I’m here.”

Jimmy shoots Joe an – by his standards – affectionate look. _You’re a really good friend, Joe._

“Five minutes, okay?” “I’ll wait in the lobby.  With your painkillers.”

Jimmy wipes his nose again, stuffs a fresh packet of tissues in his pockets and takes a long look at himself in the mirror.   _Yes, it’s hard. And yes, I miss him more than I’d ever admit to anyone. But… I’m not alone._

 

Two more runs stand between Joe and his 15th century in Test cricket.

As the teams return from tea, Ali, stretched out on the sofa in the living room, sits up straight, leans forward. Tries to make out his friend’s expression, is looking for that familiar, sometimes bewildering, but always – always, no matter the circumstances – genuine smile.

A smile that almost caught Ali off guard all those years ago in Nagpur when Joe made his debut. He still remembers his surprise. “Barely 22 years old and he’s enjoying himself that much. He looks like he’s made for international cricket.”

That was Ali’s initial reaction. He’s thought back to that day very often. Realised just how right his first instinct was. Watched Joe grow up and turn into one of the best batsmen he’s shared a pitch with – while still retaining that sometimes-endearing shyness and fantastic sense of humour. Spent hours in partnerships with Joe, developed an almost unspoken understanding with him.

_I miss him too._ Ali realises and sighs.

_I mostly miss all the small things. How you always knew what I was about to do from the way I looked at you. And your grin. That always – always told me, no matter how the game was going – “I trust you 100 percent. I know what you’re capable of.”_

“And I know what you are capable of.” Ali whispers to the TV.

Joe catches the ball beautifully, guides it – as if it was the easiest thing in the world – to the boundary. A century. He clenches his fist, beams. “Roooooooot!” The familiar shout rings around the ground. Warm applause from the stands.

As usual, Joe takes off his helmet and kisses it.

And in that instant, Ali sees him glance around the balcony for a second. He’s looking for something.

Someone.

It only lasted for half a second.

But Ali knows who he meant.

And that? That hurts. Really hurts.

“Well done.” Ali whispers past the lump in his throat.

Picks up his phone.

“ ** _I’m proud of you, captain! :)_** “

And a selfie.

And he really hopes (even though he knows better) Joe doesn’t notice that there are tears in his eyes.

 

Towels fly around the dressing room. “Just in time!” Chris says and rubs his hair. “You did warn me. But wow. Monsoon rains are something to behold.” Rory, impressed, pours water from his shoes.

“Get changed quickly, lads, or you’ll be the next ones with a cold.” Trev stops halfway across the room, grins at his boys. “Well done.”

“Thanks boss. “Jimmy is back from the safe, carries a handful of smartphones. Sneezes. “I can’t remember which phone belongs to who…” _– achoo_! – “so, I’m just gonna leave them here.” He puts the pile down on a bench.

“And what’s with this one?” Jonny asks.

“Oh, that’s our captain’s phone.” Jimmy hands it to Joe, grinning. “You’re man of the hour! At least according to your notifications.”

While Joe – who can’t keep a proud smile off his face – reads his messages, Jimmy gets changed. Tries not to look too curious. Even though it’s obvious what he’s really interested in.

After a while he realises Joe has been watching him for some time. “What’s going on?” Jimmy asks quietly. “He was watching.” Joe’s voice is thick with emotion and there’s a suspicious shine in his eyes. He gives his phone to Jimmy, without a word.

_Oh fuck._

Jimmy takes a deep breath. His hands have begun to shake.

To hide his own emotions, he – so much unlike him – holds out his arms. “Come to me, Joe.”

They hug for a long time, silently, their eyes closed.

Feel the other shake, fight back tears.

“You okay?” Joe asks after what feels like an eternity, blinks rapidly.

Jimmy nods. Coughs.

“Any idea what we should text back?” “The truth, if you ask me.”

“ ** _Thanks. We miss you a lot right now. Joe (and Jimmy).”_**

They put their phones back into the kitbags, slip on rain jackets.

Are glad not to be alone. Even though they feel like it.


	3. Colombo (and Sydney)

_**“CONGRATS! :) :) :) :) :) But why did you have to leave it so late? ;)”** _

_**“Thanks! :) :) Yep, that was not part of the plan. Oh well, that’s what happens when you want your team to play entertaining cricket. ;)”** _

_**“Look at you. Barely 30 tests as captain and you talk as if you’re the expert now.”** _

_**“Now who’s just become the first England captain since 2001 to win a series in Sri Lanka? :P”** _

_**“You cheeky little git.”** _

_**“:) Jos wants to know if your in-laws still have geese for Christmas?”** _

_**“I’ll ask them. And I assume the party’s getting started now?”** _

_**“You bet! I’ll send you videos ;)”** _

_**“Joe?”** _

_**“Hm?”** _

_**“Are you alone?”** _

_**“Nope. Hang on a second, I’m going outdoors. What’s up?”** _

_**“I needed you to be alone. Because the face you’re about to make will give everything away to the others. When does your plane arrive on the 27th?”** _

_**“3:30 in Gatwick. Why?”** _

_**“DON’T TELL JIMMY. I’m going to pick you up from the airport.”**_ And Ali doesn’t have to be in the corridor in Kandy to know what Joe’s expression must be like right now. Wants nothing more than to hug him. _I can do that in 11 days, though_.

His phone buzzes.

_**“Sorry. Took me a while. Brilliant! Can’t wait to see you again! :) And I promise, I won’t tell Jimmy. Even though he’s a proper PAIN at the moment.”** _

_**“Let me guess. One-word answers only?”** _

_**“If he’s even listening to me.”** _

_**“Oh god. Jimmy-with-a-cold.”**_ Ali laughs. That’s a challenge of its own.

_**“Need some tips? 1) Slip him a packet of cookies – Oreos or something else with chocolate. 2) Make sure he’s got enough tea. 3) And only take him seriously about 50% of the time.”** _

_**“Will do :D”** _

_**“Well – enjoy the party! Looking forward to seeing the videos :)”** _

 

 

Jimmy can’t sleep.

Which is only partially due to his cold and the sticky warm 28 degrees in his hotel room in Colombo.

He really hoped it would get easier with each day on this tour. That he’d have accepted it now, with the third Test about to begin. It isn’t as if he’s entirely on his own. He’s got Stuart – who can be his annoying “little brother” at times – Joe (who, as Jimmy suspects, has been charged with looking after him by Ali) and is increasingly getting on well with Jack.

But there are all the things that he shared with nobody else.

Inside jokes which nobody other than Ali will get. Their darts tournament which will now (annoyingly) forever stand at 38:33 for Ali. The many evenings they spent together and hours of really good conversations. And the nights – like tonight – in which one of them or both couldn’t sleep. (Ali, mostly – especially during the night before THAT Test in Trent Bridge, three years ago). Nights, in which they – _platonically! (_ he adds before his inner Swanny can tease him about it) – shared a bed, told each other stories, were there for each other.

Jimmy reaches for his phone in the darkness, looks at the clock.

4:30 am.

Should he text him? It’s 11 pm at home. But who knows, Ali might be busy right now.

And what does he even expect to happen? A continuation of “Rivers of London” which Ali had finished the day before the Test at the Oval began? (Jimmy knows all too well that he’s going to get the second book for Christmas.) _Leave him be, you idiot. You’re going to see him at Joe’s stag do anyway._

Sighing, Jimmy curls up under the blanket and takes another look at the selfie on his phone background. Lets his thoughts wander back to the day they took the photo, almost a year ago.

 

“I feel quite privileged, you know.” Ali said as they’d finished their hot chocolates and stepped out into the blistering hot January sun.

After keeping Joe company for a while – that stomach bug was really nothing to mess around with – they’d escaped the team hotel in search of a café and something sweet.

And spent a fantastic two hours, relatively undisturbed by Australian guests except for the odd stare and “I don’t think it’s them?”, reminiscing and laughing at Jimmy’s impressions of teammates past and present. One of those afternoons on tour that had kept both of them sane.

“What do you mean?” Jimmy looked at his friend, curious.

“Well….” Ali – endearingly – blushed. “I think I’m one of the few people that knows the real you. And that makes me feel special.”

“You’re one of the few people – no, strike that – the only person I know that lets me be me.” Jimmy replied, quietly.

Smiled – the way that only Ali made – no, still makes – him smile. They shared a look.

And Jimmy put his arm around Ali’s shoulders, briefly side-hugged his best friend.

“Let’s take a selfie.”

“I’m not Stuart.” 

"Come on. It’s a beautiful day. You don’t even have to smile or anything. Although – if you want to – think of Straussy’s sunglasses.”

Which had prompted one of the most adorable ( _really, brain-Swanny? Of all the adjectives you could have chosen?_ ) fits of laughter Jimmy had ever seen from Ali.

He can still hear it in his mind.

 

In the darkness of his hotel room in Colombo, Jimmy’s index finger gently strokes the photo on his smartphone screen.

_Sleep well, Ali. I’m thinking of you._


	4. Gatwick Airport

Ali parks the car and looks at his watch. 2.45 pm. Enough time to grab a coffee. 

He picks up a small newspaper-wrapped parcel from the glove compartment, pulls his hat down over his ears and gets out of the car. Wanders over to the arrivals’ entrance, his thoughts all over the place as a nasty fresh autumn wind tears at his jacket. Hardly pays attention to the occasional excited “It’s Ali Cook!” shouts coming his way. There’s an odd – but familiar – buzzing feeling somewhere inside him.

He remembers a rainy morning in March, almost four years ago. The last time he’d picked the lads up from the airport, much, much too early after the World Cup.  How he’d spent half the night before tossing and turning in his bed, wondering what exactly he should say, how he could tell them he was feeling sorry without making it sound like “see, this is what happens when I’m not with you.” Which was true – but just about the last thing the lads wanted to hear.

He still sees Jimmy, pale and with bloodshot eyes, wrapped in a jacket a bit too big for him, dragging himself over towards him, a smile – that smile – flashing across his exhausted features. They’d walked to Ali’s car in silence except for the occasional wide yawn from Jimmy. And over there, in the relative security and darkness of deck 23, Jimmy fell into Ali’s arms. Still didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. That fierce grip around Ali’s shoulders had told Ali everything he wanted to know.

_But today’s different._ Ali reminds himself as he orders his usual cappuccino and muffin and looks for a table with a good view of the noticeboard – a shiny blue square some feet ahead of him – and the giant white sliding doors that separate passengers from their friends, families and colleagues waiting for them.

He stirs the foam in his coffee cup. Another memory flashes before his mind’s eye.

Melbourne, that terrible evening in December when they’d accompanied Swanny to the airport, so much earlier than planned. How Swanny had tried to distract them right until the minute he’d needed to pass passport control, made fun of the Australians (quietly enough so only Ali and Jimmy could hear him). Anything to make Jimmy laugh. But that day, even Swanny’s well-refined Pup impression couldn’t help.

Ali still sees the two bowlers – his best friends (except for Stuart and Joe of course) – cling to each other, both of them trying and failing to keep their emotions in check. Still hears Jimmy call Swanny a “stupid bloody idiot” and Swanny promising both of them that he would text as soon as he was back in London.

 

Airports.

Mostly unremarkable – except for that stunning and memorably very bumpy flight descent towards the small airport in Wellington. And yet, airports bring back so many memories for Ali. He could probably fill an entire book only with stories that happened between gates and duty-free stores all over the world.

Maybe that’s something he should do. If that’s something people want to read.

He sips his coffee – just the right balance of bitter and sweet – and looks at the noticeboard again. The flight from Colombo is still listed as “on time”. Only 15 minutes. And then maybe another 20, depending on how tired everyone is.

A thought that makes Ali chuckle to himself.  He can just about imagine the scenes on board right now. Jos, being wide awake (however he does that) and chatting excitedly to whoever has the misfortune to find himself sitting next to him. Jonny and Chris, snoring away in the back of the plane. Stuart, taking photos of the city far down below – he always does that when they come home. And Trev is probably sitting up front, as usual, occasionally sneaking a glance - a fond smile – around at his boys as he’s finishing (or maybe he’s already done so) _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,_ Ali’s birthday present for their coach this year. A mostly composed, quietly excited group, less chaotic than on their flights during a tour. Quietly proud of themselves, no doubt.

_I made the right choice._ Ali tells himself and bites a chunk off the blueberry muffin. _But I also can’t wait to see them again._ (All of them, brain-Swanny. Seriously.) _They’re … sort of also my family._

(Another exhibit for “Ali Cook’s not-way-with-words”. At least nobody heard him this time.)

 

The relative silence aboard British Airways flight 127 from Colombo is broken as the plane comes to a standstill in front of the gate. “Welcome home, lads!” Keaton looks around the aisle, grins. “It looks absolutely bloody miserable outside.” “Didn’t expect anything else.” Stuart laughs, yawns widely. “Let’s get going.”

They file out of the airplane, say goodbye to the staff. A familiar excitement takes hold of them. Only a few minutes – hours, at best – until they’re back home with their families and friends. Another long, but successful tour over. A few well-deserved weeks of rest.

Joe switches his phone back on, waits for it to connect back to an English mobile phone network. Three days to go until his wedding. Now, all off a sudden, he’s getting excited.

He thinks about what it’s going to feel like to say “I do” in front of everyone who’s important to him. Feels a shiver run down his spine, grabs his phone and texts Carrie. “ ** _Landed! Looking forward to seeing you soon, Mrs. Root :-*”_**

Jonny jabs a finger into his back. “Dreaming about Saturday, are we?” “Yep. I just hope I won’t forget anything.” “Don’t worry, nobody will notice. Except you. But I get where you’re coming from. Hang on, is that your bag?” He points to a large red bag on the conveyor belt.

“Bugger, you’re right!” Laughing, Joe runs after it, grabs his sports bag and hauls it onto the trolley.

As if it had been waiting for him – and it probably had, Ali’s always had excellent timing - his phone buzzes in his pocket. Curiously, he takes it out again. “ ** _Welcome home! Can’t wait :) “_**

And now, with minutes to go, Joe doesn’t care if the others notice he’s beaming. He beckons to his team “I’ve got something to say before we go.” They get into a huddle.

“Thank you so much for a great tour, everyone! I never dreamed we’d top the India series, but we did. We do meet again on Thursday…” Laughter all around – “So try and get some sleep in beforehand. Bravo, guys. Being your captain is unbelievably fun.” “Well, it’s fun being captained by you!” Jack replies – and quite obviously speaks everyone’s mind.

Applause, high-fives, fist bumps. “Off we go.”

_I can’t wait to see your faces in about two minutes. Especially yours, Jimmy._

Joe looks back towards the end of the row where a hunched figure in a fleece jacket – on top of his tracksuit jacket – wrapped in a scarf, pushes a trolley full of bags.

 

Jimmy’s phone vibrates just as they pass through Customs. Daniella, Ruby and Lola have sent him a selfie. Hard to say where they are at the moment, only their faces are visible. “ ** _Good to have you back, dad! :) “_** , the message reads.

Jimmy yawns, smiles at the photo. **_“On my way to the train. Only 2 more hours :) “_**

And yes, now, after 10 miserable hours on the plane (during which he mostly failed to find a comfortable position to sleep in and really managed to annoy Stuart in the process), he’s starting to feel a bit lighter. He’s home. More or less.

He blows his nose and another thought crosses his mind. _Should I ring him? He’s probably waiting for it. He still knows our schedule. I think. He must know we’ve arrived._

_Stupid Jimmy. First of all, he’ll have probably read it on the WhatsApp group._ (Which he’s never going to get kicked out of, or definitely not at least as long as Joe is captain) _And then, in case you still did not get the message over the last few weeks – he’s moved on. He’s got his family. And the farm. And for fuck’s sake, you’re going to see him on Thursday._

_James Anderson. Stop pining._

Jimmy sighs at himself and enters the arrivals hall. Glances around at the familiar sea of people in rain coats, some holding flowers, others balancing their children on their shoulders. Waves at Clare Stokes. Wants to join Keaton who’s looking for the train stop.

But as he’s about to look up the next train to Manchester, he suddenly hears an excited shout. And sees Joe running almost halfway across the hall, fiercely embracing a tall dark figure in jeans and a blue jacket. Carrie, no doubt. Couldn’t wait for her husband-to-be so she took a detour to London to surprise him.

Jimmy smiles to himself, remembering how excited Daniella and he were in the days leading up to their wedding (12 years ago, really?).

He takes another look.

_Hang on a second. His girlfriend is blonde. Not black._

_Is that…?_

Ali feels something click back into place as he casts an eye over the slightly sleepy but happy group of passengers that just entered the arrivals hall.

To a certain extent (even though nobody, after this tour, can deny that they’ve turned into Joe’s team) they will always be his lads. Most of them have been at his side for far too long, through the tough times and the glorious. And he’s looking forward to watching the younger lads settle.

Ali wonders if he should wave at them when a blonde unguided cruise missile from Yorkshire suddenly comes running over at full speed, crashes into him, pulls him into one of the tightest hugs he’s got since the Oval. “I missed you so much!” 

“Missed you too.” Ali says, laughing softly, and wraps his arms around Joe.  _That one’s for your century._  Has he said that out loud? Maybe he has. Oh well, at least nobody else heard him.

They look at each other, hands still on each other’s shoulders. Grin. “Welcome to the big club, Joe.” Ali says warmly. “I told you the day would come when it stops feeling awkward. When you begin to get what you’re supposed to be doing as captain.” “You did. And you were right. It’s a brilliant feeling.” “I always knew you’d be up for the job.”

Joe simply smiles. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Farm’s kept me busy. And the kids. Elsie’s bringing home a different virus from kindergarten almost every other week.” “Ouch.” “At least you can keep her happy easily when she’s ill. Tea and her dad reading her a story. That’s all she really needs.”

They laugh, both knowing all too well who Ali was thinking of.

 

“Oh, before I forget.” Ali hands Joe the small parcel he’d kept in the glove compartment. “That’s for you.”

Curiously, Joe unwraps it. “A watch?” “Not just a watch, THE watch. Which I had at Trent Bridge in 2015. Because you’ve got to have something blue for your wedding – and because I figured you could do with a good luck-charm.” “Thanks! That means a lot.”

 

They hug again just as the rest of their teammates arrive.

“I don’t believe it!” Ben laughs and high-fives Ali. “Did you miss us so much?” “Thought you deserved a surprise. Brilliant tour, lads!”  “Thanks!” Stuart grins and embraces him briefly. Winces as Ali pats him on the back. “Sorry, you couldn’t have known, I’ve got quite a bad sunburn up there.” “That’s Sri Lanka for you.” Ali says sympathetically.

 

“So, how was the flight?” “Not too bad. But long.” Sam yawns. “If it wasn’t for a certain miserable git in row 6, I’d have got a bit more than four hours of sleep.” Stuart adds. “Where is he, anyway?”

Joe shoots Stuart a glance - _Leave them –_ and Stuart grins, full of understanding. “He’ll find us, eventually. Well, we’re heading off. See you Thursday night at 7 pm, my place! I’m gonna be there.” Joe hugs Ali. “Are you gonna be there?” Jack replies and everyone falls apart laughing. “Yep, we all listen to Tailenders now.” Jonny explains. “Knew you would, eventually.”

They say their goodbyes.

 

Ali watches the lads leave with their families.

Remembers all the reunions he’s had with his own, in airports and car parks and train stations. How he’d always been glad not to have to talk anymore after a tour, let Alice decide where they’d go for dinner, listen to all the news from their friends and neighbours. How good it had felt to stop being Alastair Cook, England captain and start being Alastair Cook, husband, again.

Precious moments. Precious few weeks.

_Make the most of them, lads._

 

But then, Ali’s train of thought is completely derailed as he sees a figure – the very picture of misery (as always when he’s got a cold, although he’s stepped it up a notch over the last couple of years), wearing TWO jackets and almost disappearing inside the cashmere scarf he’d got from Stuart last time in Cape Town, approach him, almost in a daze, as if he isn’t sure whether or not he’s dreaming the whole thing.

A familiar warmth spreads all around Ali’s body.  He stays where he is, smiling from one ear to another. Sees the realisation dawn on Jimmy’s slightly pale face as he stops a foot apart from his best friend.

 

“I don’t believe it.” Jimmy whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I mean… I sort of wished for it when we left… but…” “I had to.” Ali replies. Knows everything Jimmy didn’t say out loud. Looks into his friend’s hazel eyes, suspiciously shiny under the bright overhead lights of the arrivals hall.

“I…” Jimmy chokes himself off.

 

Ali envelops him in his arms. Closes his eyes. Stops to think. Couldn’t care less that they’re being seen by lots of other people. Doesn’t care about anything else at the moment.

Only the feeling of his best friend in his arms. The way he’s being held, clung to as if Jimmy’s life depended on it. A heartbeat – familiar, reassuring, steady – against his own chest. A finger, almost unnoticeable, tracing lines on his neck.  A slight moist spot somewhere on his collar. And the smell of Jimmy’s aftershave.

_Welcome home._ Ali thinks, takes a deep breath.

 

Jimmy sneezes, breaks the spell. Ali feels a tiny pleasant shiver run down his neck as Jimmy laughs, his face still buried in Ali’s arms. “Sorry.”

“No need. Sounds like you’ve actually got it bad, this time.” Ali chuckles, gives Jimmy’s shoulders another squeeze. “Actually? Has Joe been complaining about me behind my back?” Jimmy mock-earnestly raises a finger, wags it threateningly.

 

“I’m not going to throw him under the bus, you know.” Ali laughs and takes the trolley. “Hungry?” “You bet. Haven’t eaten a thing since we left the hotel … 13 hours ago. I think.”

 

“I figured as much. Consequently… Dinner. Our place. Daniella and your girls should make it in time as well.” “You’re impossible.” Jimmy laughs softly. “No. I’m me.” Ali says earnestly.

“And I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Jimmy replies, jovially. But there’s no hiding the sincerity behind the light-hearted tone (which is something almost nobody, except for Stuart and Joe, ever hears these days).

Smiles. THAT smile.

Sees his own emotions reflected in his best friend’s eyes.

 

“Deck 23, as always?” “Yep.”

They set off towards the car, Jimmy’s arm draped comfortably around Ali’s shoulders.

 

Companions, reunited at last.

And even though there is no camera to record the moment, Ali and Jimmy know the images – and memories - of today will stay with them forever.

More profound, vivid, than any selfie could be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Filling an excellent prompt from jiminyneesham: "selfies+Sydney+reunion+ (Jason Roy/Sam Billings, can be any pairing you like though)"
> 
> Honestly surprised myself how much story I got out of this little prompt and how fluffy it got at times :)


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